


with her song in your heart

by ladyknope



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknope/pseuds/ladyknope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six times Ben Wyatt dances/enough sap for a million waffles</p>
            </blockquote>





	with her song in your heart

Ben Wyatt doesn’t dance - not in public anyway.

And it’s not because the opportunity hasn’t come up (his sister trying to drag him out on the dance floor at their brother’s wedding being the latest fiasco), but on principle, he doesn’t do it. (More than half the reason for that principle is because he doesn’t really know how). But when Leslie sneaks her way into staying on Chris and Ann’s date, his own stubbornness doesn’t let him say no, even when the continuation of that date is dancing at a gay bar.

 

So he goes, but stands to the side. He watches Chris, his usual enthusiasm enough to make up for his spastic movements. But even with Chris making a show of himself, Ben’s eyes are continuously drawn to Leslie. He’s annoyed with her sure, has been for most of the summer, but there’s something in her drive for accomplishment, to always do good (however misguided it is) that he’s attracted to.

 

She gets under his skin. 

 

It startles him- makes his bones vibrate and his muscles twitch- enough that he needs to find some way to release his energy. When his foot starts moving to the pounding beat, tapping and shaking his leg, he doesn’t stop it. He keeps watching her, the way her hips move and her head shakes, uninhibited. Before he realizes it, his torso is keeping the beat instead of his leg. He almost stops himself, knowing how weird he must look standing away from the crowd moving without grace, until he locks eyes with Leslie. She looks the slightest bit surprised, her eyes widening and her rhythm faltering for a second. And he keeps dancing, smiling at her a little, hoping to prove her even the slightest bit wrong. To prove that he’s not exactly the uptight, hard-ass she thinks he is. 

He tries not to think about why he feels like he needs to prove that to her in the first place.

 

//

 

It’s nearing 4 am by the time they finally make it home. Leslie’s feet hurt, her lower back aches from standing for so many hours in heels and she feels like she hasn’t washed her face in a week. But right now none of that matters, because right now she’s still living her first moments as Ben’s wife, with Ben as her husband. 

She can’t help but think of everything as a first: first kiss as a married couple, first toast with their friends, first time being in their home, first time having sex. It’s all part of her need to catalogue memories, to categorize and label them so she can remember them better later and make sure they all happen. Which is why, although she can tell Ben is eager to start the last “first” on her list (his hands lay on her stomach and he’s kissing up her neck as she unlocks their front door), she needs to add one more.

Once they’re inside, she steps out of her heels and tugs him by the hand. His eyes are bright and happy until she leads him into the living room.

“Les, if we do this down here, I’m never gonna make it upstairs.” His right hand lays heavy on her hip while the left cups her face, pressing short kisses to her mouth over and over, then down her neck giving her a chance to speak.

“We’re not doing that yet, one more thing first. Stay right there.” He groans as she steps away, extending his arm to hold her hand for as long as possible until she slips towards their stereo. She finds the song easily on Ben’s iPod that’s already hooked up, presses play and turns the volume so it’s just loud enough in their quiet house.

She turns back around to see Ben looking at her the same way he has been all night, the way he always looks at her but somehow magnified, more intense. Her right hand slips into his left easily. Her other hand winds its way around his neck, fingers scratching through the short hair while his is wrapped completely around her waist and Al Green starts off singing I’m so in love with you. 

They look at each other and she breathes deeply for what feels like the first time since this whole night started. Her adrenaline is fading slightly and she can tell Ben’s is too when they both start to lean more weight on each other. They move their feet in shorter and shorter distances as they barely sway to the music. Ben tries to rest is his forehead on hers, but with her heels gone the distance is too far to be comfortable. So he kisses her eyebrow lingeringly and she tucks her head under his chin. 

The song reminds her of many of their other firsts: first road trip, first confession of feelings, first kiss. She wonders if someone told her then what she knew now about their relationship, if she would believe them- the things they have to go through, together and apart, that all the nights they spend missing each other and wondering end with them here, in their house, married and happy. She wonders if Ben would believe their story before they lived it, if he ever imagined this future for them way back then.

“I never knew it would be like this.” He says it into her hair, as if he can read her mind. 

She puts both arms around his neck, slows their swaying enough that they’re basically just hugging, their first real one as a married couple she can’t help thinking, and whispers “me neither” into his shoulder. 

 

//

 

“Please tell me Mom isn’t crying again.”

Ben doesn’t need to turn his head to know that she is, he’s two minutes away from doing it again himself. Instead, he pulls his daughter closer, tries to take in the joy of this moment without thinking about how he feels like he’s losing something. He’s being foolish, he knows. He hasn't been the most important man in Abby’s life for a long time and he’s okay with that, glad even. Glad that she’s independent, fierce and beautiful on her own, but has found someone who sees that in her too. 

So when tears leak out of his eyes, it’s not just because he feels like there’s some kind of finality in this moment, it’s also because he’s thinking about how proud and happy he is for her. He looks up at Leslie over Abby’s shoulder and sniffles a little bit at seeing the things he feels being reflected back to him in her eyes.

“Dad! Not you, too.” Abby admonishes, pulling back to tilt her head and glare.

“Sorry.” He shrugs and smiles at her- spins her around one hand out onto the dance floor, her white dress reflecting light into the audience. By the time she twirls back to him, she’s smiling again. She kisses his cheek and he doesn’t worry about anything else but making sure she doesn’t fall until the song is over.

//

“I am Leslie Knope. I love this town and I’ve worked my whole life to make it great. I believe that I’ve earned your vote, Bobby Newport believes he can buy it.”

“Perfect.”

They double high-five and Leslie feels it crawl from her toes up through her arms, her excitement, her pre-debate adrenaline, making her shake her head and roll her neck. It’s still two days away, but every time they practice her opening remarks, Ben staring directly into her eyes and her words never faltering, she feels like she’s already won. 

Ben looks up from his phone and smiles, “They’re going to let us practice in the auditorium tomorrow.”

“Great!” This time when she holds out her hand, she starts their secret hand-shake and Ben falls into step flawlessly. Every time they do this she can’t help but feel giddy with the reminder of how right they are for each other. How she gets to love and be in love with her best friend. 

This time, after they fist bump, they both pull their arms to their sides instead, flattening their palms and pumping their arms up and down once. Sometimes they’re so in-sync, it’s scary.

“Let’s do that again.”

They go through the motions of their handshake with practiced ease, then both pull their arms down like before, but Leslie keeps going, pumping both her arms up and down, first with flat hands then making fists. She sees Ben’s eyes go wide, tracking her movements and trying to copy her, but falling first one, then two steps behind. 

“Like this.” She does it again, but slower, bites her lip to keep from smiling too hard at the way he’s focusing right now. She does it once more with Ben almost on time, but has to stop from practicing again to pull on his tie and kiss away the manifestation of the cute attention he pays her in the form of his pursed lips. 

She can’t stop kissing him after that, too many feelings bubbling up inside of her. But by the way he pulls on her hips, she doesn’t think he’ll mind if the next time they practice their signature dance move is after they’re naked and spent. 

//

Ben takes in a big breath and lets it out slowly. It’s quiet in their house for the first time in hours. He pauses at the top of the stairs, reveling in the peace, but also steadying himself enough in case Leslie needs to not be quiet. In case she needs him to be the calm to her tension, the cohesion to her unravelling. It’s something they’ve traded off doing for each other the past 2 months- the past 4 years together really- but these last months especially. But when he walks into the kitchen, she’s just standing at the sink, quietly rinsing dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. She doesn’t turn around when he leans against the counter behind her, the floorboards squeaking so that he knows she can hear him.

“Hey,” he says softly “she’s asleep now.”

 

She keeps rinsing. 

 

He watches her and waits. Then he notices her rinsing the same plate over and over, now completely clean of any crumbs. It’s enough to make him push off the counter and not wait for her to respond because he’s weirdly becoming a little unraveled from the quiet he so desperately wanted hours earlier. His thumb brushes the hair away from her neck, scoops it onto one shoulder, and he feels her warm skin as he fills the space behind her. It’s only now that he’s close enough that he hears her sniffling over the running water.

“Leslie..” 

When she puts the plate down into the sink and clamps a hand over her mouth, a real sob choking out of her throat, he feels his stomach twist into knots. He reaches around her and shuts off the water, turns her shoulder to face him and she’s wrapping her arms around his waist before he can even wipe her tears away.

“Sorry,” she whispers against his chest, her body sinking into his with exhaustion and defeat. “You just got her to stop crying and then I start.”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” He brushes her hair back from hair face and rubs up and down her back with a rhythm of hard pressure and release he knows she likes. 

He wishes he could make this easier for her, could tell her it won’t always be like this and there’s nothing better they could be doing. But he has worries and doubts too- it’s not like he’s ever been the parent to a 6-week-old before. They’re both doing the best they can, trying to find what soothes Abigail most and quickly learning what doesn’t. He knows that much at least. Sometimes it’s frustrating, though- when Abby won’t go to sleep even though he knows she’s tired, when she calms down in Leslie’s arms, but starts screaming the minute they put her in her crib. He sees Leslie try so hard to make their baby’s life perfect, to make her happy as much as possible. And in this moment, he’s reminded how glad he is she’s the one he gets to do this with. 

“You’re a good mom.” 

She pulls back at his words- breathing in and out of her mouth to calm herself down. 

She bites her lip and looks like she might doubt his words a little when she says, “Yeah?”

“Of course,” he frames her face with his hands, kisses her forehead, “you’re so good to her.”

“Because sometimes I think she doesn’t like me that much.” She smiles a little and something unfurls in the pit of his stomach. 

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t like it if someone made you sleep more than you wanted to either.”

“I guess so.”

They both laugh a little and he feels the best he’s felt in a few days. He lets her pull away to take care of the dishes in the sink, sees her frowning still. And then he gets an idea. He pushes away the regret and embarrassment he already feels settling in him- the need to see his wife smile for longer than a few seconds carrying him through. 

He finds the stereo in their living room and turns on whatever pop music Leslie had it previously set to. She turns around with a curious look before a slow smile blooms on her face when she sees his awkward attempt at walking and dancing-pulling an air guitar because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands- and he can already feel his cheeks turning red, but he doesn’t care. Not when Leslie finally giggles, smiling big enough that her teeth show, as he sways his hips and moves his elbows up and down in a way they’re probably not supposed to. 

He doesn’t know this song that well, but he still attempts to sing the chorus in a ridiculous falsetto that makes his wife cackle. He pulls on Leslie’s hand with his and she falls easily into him, spinning into his body and pulling back out again, like they practice this every day. She pulls him by both hands now, trying to force rhythm where his body resists it until they both give up and wrap their arms around each other in a hug instead. They sway slowly- to a tempo they both need to feel right now- ignoring the fast pace of the song. 

“I love that you already dance like a dorky dad.” She says it softly into his neck, making every misstep of the day worthwhile.

//

She’s drunky. Drunk. Drunk-er than a few hours ago at least, they all are. But they’re celebrating- she just won an election, coming back after polling at one percent, with the best team, the best friends and the smartest, sexiest campaign manager that ever campaigned before. But she’s not really drunk, she’s an elected official now, City Councilwoman Leslie Knope, she can’t get drunk in public, not on alcohol at least (although she’s had plenty tonight). But she is drunk on this night, the rush of winning, of being surrounded by her friends, of getting to kiss and kiss and kiss her campaign manager as much as she wants (although they did find a deserted closet to do a little bit more than that).

And now they’re here, in a hotel ballroom with five hundred balloons and music blasting, dancing like there’s no tomorrow. Leslie really doesn’t want to think about tomorrow. Of course tomorrow will be great, a day closer to her swearing in ceremony and the start of her dreams coming true. But it’s also a day closer to a few days from now, when Ben will leave her- fulfill his dreams for six months miles and miles away. 

So instead, she stops thinking. It’s the middle of the night and almost everyone but her close friends have gone home. The main lights are low and it’s easy to forget where they are, a fancy hotel and not a bar, when Ben pulls her away from Ann and into him a little roughly on the dance floor. He’s not great at this, they both know that, but he tries for her and that’s enough to make her drape her arms over his shoulders, shimmy their bodies closer and closer together. His hair is sticking up everywhere and when she sees it she laughs. It turns into a gasp though, when he pulls on her hip, slots his thigh further between her legs. When she looks at him now, his eyes are dark and she doesn’t think about tomorrow, just thinks about him. Ben’s hands are strong and wide on both her hips as they share one kiss, quick and dirty, and she’s about to lean in again when someone bumps into them and knocks them apart.

“Sorry!” Andy shouts over the music, his arms are wrapped around April’s waist from behind, she’s silent but glaring. “April said she’s allergic to old people dancing, right babe?”

She coughs dramatically, pretends like she’s choking, and Andy leads her away, asking her if she’s okay and if she needs water. 

She turns back to Ben and he’s still smiling, not thinking about anything but her either.

Then he pulls on her hand, raises his eyebrows and whispers, “Closet again?”. And they don’t think about tomorrow for a little bit longer.


End file.
